


Rebirth, Reunion

by PunsBulletsAndPointyThings



Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings/pseuds/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew dreams of dust and sand, of horses and armies; a city of untold wonders and a man who shines brighter than it all. But they are just dreams, even if they do leave him with the feel of sand on his skin and a voice in his ear that is achingly familiar and yet totally strange. Aren't they? When Matthew literally runs into a man who calls him Hephaistion and claims to know him, Matthew suddenly isn't so sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was originally meant to be a short story for my writing 12 class. However, a couple days, MANY hours of planning, plotting, and researching, and three days of practically none stop writing later, I was left with this 9000+ word monster. I like I said, it is meant to be a short story, but I am going to split it up into shorter chapters for posting.

_Dust was everywhere around them: in their hair, in their eyes, in their mouths, caught up by the harsh Egyptian wind and whipped all around, stinging any skin that had been left foolishly unprotected. The sound of men shouting and the panicky nickering of the horses were almost completely drowned out by the wind’s mournful wailing. Matthew squinted, trying to see through the practically solid wall of sand that hung in the air, to the man on the horse he rode next to. He could just barely make out the shape of the massive black stallion, and the faint outline of his rider, calm and collected, even in such a situation._  
  
_“My Lord!” Matthew grimaced. Opening his mouth had been a mistake; his tongue was now coated in gritty sand. The man on the horse turned, and Matthew wondered just how he had heard him, how his voice had not been caught up and tossed away by the screaming wind. “My Lord, we must find shelter! The men cannot last much longer like this, nor the horses! We will be buried alive at this rate!”_  
  
_He almost missed the nod, the response that had been shouted back, as the wind speed increased suddenly, and with violent ferocity. He heard the high pitched scream of terror from a horse— his horse, he realized, as his mount reared up and Matthew was thrown off. He landed hard, the clank of his armor hitting dulled by the sand and the wind. Struggling to right himself, Matthew looked around wildly, eyes practically closed in a futile effort to keep more sand from entering. Where was his horse?! Where were the others?! Where was―_  
  
Matthew Harlem woke with a start, blue eyes snapping open wide. He was breathing hard, as if he had been running, and he could feel his heart racing in his chest. Groaning softly, he closed his eyes again, sucking in a long, even breath and letting it out slowly. He repeated the motions for a minute, waiting for the increase of oxygen to calm his heart beat and slow his breathing, before rolling over onto his side and grabbing his phone from its dock on his bedside table. His skin felt sticky with sweat against the cool sheets as he rolled onto his back again, holding the phone up above his face and squinting against the brilliant glare, made brighter from the darkness of the room. 3:45 AM. Matthew groaned, a rather pathetic noise even to his own ears, and dropped the phone onto his bare chest.  
  
He lay there for a time, eyes closed in a feeble attempt at returning to sleep, however futile he knew it might be. The apartment was dark and silent; the only sounds were the faint hum of the refrigerator and his computer, as well as Matthew’s own breathing, at last returned to a normal speed. There was not yet any light coming in through the small spaces between the window frame and the blind that hung over the large window to the right of his bed, but then, that was just his luck. It was still ridiculously early after all; the sun was not even awake yet. Finally he gave up, kicking off the sheets that had somehow become a tangled knot around his knees and sat up, tossing his long legs over the side of the bed. Matthew scrubbed his hands over his face. For a brief moment he thought he could still feel the sand in his eyes, but then it was gone. He dropped his hands and rose from the bed, stretching, and cracking his neck before wandering sleepily into his bathroom. Just the idea of turning on the brilliant fluorescent light made him wince, so he slide the dimmer to its lowest possible setting before turning it on, allowing for just enough light that he was not fumbling around in the dark anymore.  
  
The shower helped him wake up, and Matthew took the time to savor the feeling of hot water rushing over his skin, washing away the sand. Except, there was no sand. These thoughts made Matthew groaned again, and he leant forwards, pressing his forehead against the cold tiles of the shower wall. What was going on with him, and what was up with these dreams? This was what? The tenth time this month? Maybe he was working too hard, or drinking too much coffee. Or something. Pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, Matt turned off the water and reached out to pull a towel off the towel rack. As he padded out of the bathroom, he grabbed his phone off the bed, checked the time, and then sighed. 4:15 AM. Well, at least that gave him more time for marking.  
  
  
“Because of this, there was no concept of a unified Greece. The country was divided into separate poleis, or city states, like Sparta, and Athens.” Matthew pulled the cap off the black whiteboard marker he was holding and reached up, writing POLIS on the board in large, neat letters, with ie. Sparta, Athens underneath in smaller print. He looked back at his class. The room was filled with around 25 teenagers whose faces ranged from totally bored to actually interested. Most of the students were taking notes on pieces of lined paper or in notebooks, but there was one girl in the back row who was clearly on her phone. Still talking, Matthew made his way towards her.  
  
“Each one of these city-states had their own leaders, and their own systems of government. The people’s identity came from their polis; they were Athenian, or Spartan, or Corinthian.” He came to a stop at the girl’s desk and cleared his throat. She looked up with a guilty start, and he raised an eyebrow at her. “Miss Carver, unless you and your friend, whom you are so eager to contact are discussing the social state of early classical period Greece, in which case you may most certainly invite said friend here to join us, I should not see you using your phone during my class.”  
  
The girl nodded guiltily, a slight red flush heating her cheeks as students around her laughed quietly, or, in case of a few boys on the other side of the room, not so quietly. Matthew shot them a look before turning back to the girl. She slid her phone into a pocket of her bag. “Sorry Mr Harlem."  
  
“Just don’t let me see it again,” he said, giving her a small smile before returning to the front of the class. “Now, where was I?”  
  
A boy in the third row with brightly dyed purple hair raised his hand. “Poleis.”  
  
Matthew nodded and smiled. “Right. Thank you. So, each polis-“  
  
He was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the bell that signaled the end of the period, followed closely by the sound of chairs being pushed back and bags hitting desks as his students rose from their seats, chattering happily. As the students left the classroom, Matthew walked over to his desk, and sat down. He pulled out his pile of work that needed marking. Thanks to his early morning, the pile was significantly smaller than it had been the night before, but it was still a hefty amount of work that Matthew could not honestly say he was looking forward to. Pulling his iPhone and headphones out of the desk drawer, he put the earbuds in and selected a playlist. Then he plucked a red pen out of the small glass mason jar full of a variety of colourful pens and pencils that sat on top of his well thumbed (and rather ratty at this point) copy of Homer’s Iliad, before turning his gaze back to the essay on the top of the pile.  
  
About ten minutes later, Matthew’s solitude was interrupted by a light rapping on his open door. Removing an earbud, the Classics teacher looked up.  
  
Christina Gale was 5’6”, with green eyes and wildly coloured hair, the hue of which was changed on a regular basis. Today it was a swirling mix of purple, orange, pink, and blue. Christina was 30, and had been teaching at the school for one year longer than Matthew. She taught art, and upon meeting the new Classical History teacher, had promptly decided to take him ‘under her wing’, so to speak. Currently she was leaning against his doorframe and grinning, which Matthew had quickly learnt meant “I want you to do something for me.” He sighed, but smiled. Christina was one of his best friends.  
  
“Hello Christina.” The woman grinned wider. There was green paint on her cheek.  
  
“Hey Mattie. You busy?”  
  
Matthew looked pointedly down at the pile of papers in front of him. “A little, why?”  
  
“I am in desperate need of caffeine, and what comes out of the machine here is not coffee. Want to make a coffee run? Pleeease?”  
  
“I’ve got marking to do.”  
  
Christina walked into the class, sitting down on the top of a desk near Matthew, a purposely over-exaggerated pout on her painted lips. “Aw come on. I can’t go because I’m supposed to be supervising an art club meeting.” Matthew raised an eyebrow, as if to ask ‘So why aren’t you there now?’ but the woman just waved a hand dismissively.  
  
“Besides, you and I both know you could do with the vitamin D. What time did you get here this morning anyway? 6:30?”  
  
Matthew shifted in his seat, stubbornly looking anywhere but at his friend. “I got here at six....”  
  
Christina looked at him with exasperation. “Have you even seen the sun today?!” she demanded, “Okay, you are going out to get us coffee. And you are gonna walk and soak up some of the beautiful golden rays that we have been blessed with today. Geez kid, you’re gonna turn into a vampire or something.”  
  
“You know, I’m only a year younger than you. I’m not a kid.” Matthew protested, but he got up anyway, grabbing his coat, phone, headphones, wallet, and keys as he did so. “What do you want?”  
  
The art teacher grinned, reaching out to pat his head as he walked by. “I’ll call you kid if I want to, kid. And a large cappuccino. With whip cream.”  
  
Matthew swatted half heartedly at her hand. “Got it. Be back in fifteen.”


	2. Chapter Two

Whoever had decided that two blocks from a Starbucks was a good place to build a public highschool was a genius, and Matthew was eternally thankful for it. Because of the store’s vicinity to the school, most of the teachers were regulars, and the workers knew to get their orders done faster, since coffee runs usually had a time limit. The staff was cheerful and friendly, and the lines were usually reasonable.  
  
Not, however, today, as it would appear. When Matthew opened the glass door, he found the store incredibly busy. He could barely hear the music still playing through his headphones over the general din. Cursing his luck, Matthew manoeuvred through the crowd of milling customers, in search of the line. It took him a good ten minutes, but eventually he was able to get up to the counter and place his order, before retreating to find a place to wait. As he wormed his way through the crowds, the teacher’s attention was occupied with avoiding a collision with an elderly woman, and he was caught completely off guard when he suddenly felt someone slam into him. Something hot sloshed onto his chest and he yelped, more out of surprise than pain. There was an exclamation from whoever had hit him, and the sound of something hard hitting the floor followed by a soft curse. Matthew looked down at his shirt and bit back a curse of his own. It was covered in coffee and foam and...cinnamon? This was really not his day. At least he had a spare shirt in his bag back at school.  
  
“Crap man, I am so sorry. I totally didn’t see you.” Matthew looked up. The other person was a young man. He had dark hair that reached just above his shoulders and had been pulled back into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. He looked to be about Matt’s age, and was wearing dark skinny jeans and a grey tee-shirt with the Guns and Roses logo on the front. His eyes were locked on the stain on Matthew’s shirt, and there was a small-ish, black bound notebook on the ground near his feet, which must have been the source of the noise. In the man’s hand was a, now half empty and slightly dripping, coffee cup. He was frowning at the stain.  
  
“Shit, that’s pretty noticeable huh? Are you okay? Did it burn you?” he asked, looking up. Matthew’s breath caught in his throat. The man’s eyes were a rich brown, like caramel and coffee and gold, all mixed together and even though he knew he had never seen the guy before, as their eyes met Matthew could have sworn he knew him. There was something so familiar about him it was almost painful, but for the life of him, Matthew had no idea why. The guy stared at him, his eyes widening, and he even gaped slightly. “You....”  
  
Matthew blinked, snapping back to reality. He frowned slightly. “Excuse me?”  
  
The man looked excited now, very excited. A huge grin had spread across his face, and he was making grasp-y motions with his hands. “It’s you! I finally found you and you’re here and I can’t believe it holy crap it’s you!”  
  
Annnndddd, that was a little creepy. Matthew took a step back; away from the man, who was still babbling and grinning. “Um...I’m sorry, do I know you?”  
  
The man’s face fell slightly, but it was only for a moment and then he was babbling again. “Yes! I mean, no but, yes! Hephaestion it’s me!”  
  
Yeah, definitely weird. It was really not Matthew’s day. He took a few more steps back.  
  
“I’m sorry.....I think you have the wrong person.....” The man opened his mouth to speak again, but it was then that Matthew heard the most beautiful words he had heard all day.  
  
“One grande cappuccino, extra whip, and one grande black coffee for Matthew?!”  
  
Silently thanking the gods, Matthew managed something like a farewell, and pressed into the crowd, quickly heading to the pickup counter, leaving the strange man standing there.  
  
~~~  
  
Alex stood there, rooted to the spot, mouth hanging open for a good five minutes. What? What had just...... He grabbed the sides of his head. “Gah! What the hell?! Why did I just do that?!”  
  
A few people turned and stared at the young man’s shouts, but he paid no attention to them, dragging his hands down his face. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. You scared him off you jackass.” He cursed, picking up his notebook from the ground and throwing away the remains of his latte, “That was so dumb! Why’d you call him Hephaestion?!”  
  
He knew the answer. He had called him that because that was who he was, and it had caught him so off guard he had not even thought about what was coming out of his mouth.  
  
Because he had honestly begun to lose hope of ever finding his friend again.  
  
As he left the Starbucks, Alex’s hand slid up to his collar, fingers hooking around the chain he always wore around his neck, his thumb rubbing at the cool metal of the dog tag that hung from it. He could feel the shallow grooves that made up the engraving, a single word. A name. Hephaestion.  
  
It had been thirteen years since the memories had returned. Thirteen years since the day Alex Ranger had woken up in the middle of the night with two lives in his head, with the memories of his previous life. He had been Alexander the Great, Alexander III of Macedon, son of Philip II, King and Conqueror of the known world. It had been terrifying at first, two sets of memories battling for dominance in his head. That had not lasted for long though, but the terror had not left him. He was alone. Where were his generals; Cassander, Ptolemy, Hephaestion? Then he had remembered more. Remembered Hephaestion’s death, remembered his grief, feeling like his heart had been smashed into millions of tiny pieces, and Alex had cried. Or, maybe, Alexander had cried. He was not sure.  
  
Things were still fuzzy though, bits and pieces of memories that he could not remember clearly. Alex had spent the next day camped out at the library with his laptop and his copy of the Iliad (it was still his favorite book as it turned out), pouring over all the information on his past life that he could get his hands on, filling in the gaps and bringing each memory into total clarity.  
  
He had started searching for Hephaestion. After all, it only made sense that if he had been reborn, then Hephaestion must have been as well. The idea that his long lost friend might be somewhere else in the world, could have died already, or could not have even been born yet had never crossed his mind. So he searched, and he never stopped.  
  
He got the dog tag a year later, on the day of Hephaestion’s birth. It was not that Alexander was taking over, he was still Alex, he just....felt like he had to find the other man. It was important. He wore the dog tag all the time, only taking it off if he had to go through a metal detector at the airport or such.  
  
Alex stopped. He was about a block away from the Starbucks by now, having been completely lost in his thoughts as he walked. A determined frown creased his face as he stood there. No. No way. He was not going to just walk away. Not after he had finally, finally found the one he was looking for. No way. Spinning on his heel, Alex took off back to towards the coffee shop like a devil was at his heels. He flung the door open and it slammed loudly against the wall, startling the man at the counter. Alex shoved passed people in his way, making it up to the counter. “That guy! Who was he?!”  
  
The man at the counter stared at him with a confused and slightly scared expression on his face. “Uh, which man?”  
  
“Matthew,” Alex panted, “I think you said his name was Matthew. He bought a black coffee and a cappuccino.”  
  
The man’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Oh, you mean Matthew Harlem? He’s in here all the time. He works at the high school a couple blocks over.”  
  
Alex had to physically restrain himself to keep from running, to keep himself from racing out of the shop and down the road, to the school, to find Hephae- Matthew. His name.....was Matthew here. Alex exhaled slowly as he walked out of the Starbucks. But that did not mean that Hephaestion was not in there, somewhere.  
  
~~~  
  
Matthew stared at the two coffee cups he carried the whole walk back to the school. He pointedly did not think about the strange man who had run into him, spilt coffee on him, called his the name of an ancient Macedonian general, and then said he knew him. Absolutely not. His shoes made solid thunking noise as he made his down the hall, the chattering of teenagers nothing but white noise. He had seemed so familiar, just for a moment there, it a strange, protective way that made something in his chest ache when he thought about.  
  
“What’s with the face? You planning on killing someone?”  
  
Matthew jumped, snapping out of his thoughts. He was standing in the doorway of Christine’s classroom, and she was peering at him expectantly, one hand held out for her coffee. He gave it to her.  
  
“Was the line really that bad?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of her drink.  
  
Matthew shook his head. “What? No. No. It’s nothing. I just...bumped into a weird guy, that’s all.”  
  
“Did he hit on you?”  
  
“What?! No! Why would you assume that?!”  
  
Christine shrugged. “You look like a girl who just got hit on for the first time. Was he a sleeze? Do I need to go beat him up for you?”  
  
Matthew gave his friend a dark look. “No. He didn’t hit on me, and even if he did, I can beat up sleezes plenty fine on my own thank you very much.”  
  
“Of course darling.” Christina patted his cheek before strolling back to her desk, looking for all the world like a Queen in her domain. “So, what did he say that’s got you so rattled?”  
  
Matthew shook his head again, dragging a stool over to her desk and dropping down on it, checking his watch as he did so. He still had time before the lunch break finished. “It isn’t a big deal. He just...called me Hephaestion.”  
  
Christina frowned, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “Didn’t you tell me that was some Greek god?”  
  
“No, that’s Hephaestus, Greek god of the forge. Hephaestion was from Macedon. He was one of Alexander the Great’s generals.”  
  
Christina raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “Okay, yeah, that is kind of weird.” Then she paused.  
  
“Uh, Matt?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“What happened to your shirt?”  
  
Matthew looked down at the brown stain on the front of his shirt and groaned. It was sticking to his skin, and not at all comfortable, but somehow he had managed to forget about it. “Damn it...”  
  
Christina patted his shoulder and then rose from her perch on her desk. She walked across the room and grabbed a paint smock off an easel, tossing it at Matthew. He caught it smoothly, three years of friendship with her had given him fast reflexes. “Wear this up to your room. You’ve got a change yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, I do. Thanks.”  
  
She grinned. “Anytime kid.”  
  
“Stop calling me kid!”


	3. Chapter Three

_The horse was a wild and beautiful creature, but as Matthew watched the beast buck and rear, hoofs lashing out whenever the king’s attendants tried to approach, he felt only fear. There was a boy with him; standing at Matthew’s left, shoulder to shoulder. He was grinning when Matthew turned his head to look at him, his voice full of longing and determination._  
  
_“He shall be mine.”_  
  
_Matthew felt his eyes widen. “By Zeus Alexander, are you mad?!” he hissed, looking around to see if anyone had heard the young prince’s brash words. “He is wild. If your father and his men cannot control him...”_  
  
_The blond boy waved a hand dismissively, his next words louder, meant to be heard._  
  
_“What an excellent horse do they lose for want of address and boldness to manage him.”_  
  
_There was silence, followed by hushed murmuring as King Phillip slowly turned to face his son. Matthew felt himself cower under the king’s gaze, but Alexander stood firm._  
  
_The king’s voice was deep and regal, and Matthew fancied he could feel the rumbling vibrations in his chest as he spoke._  
  
_“Do you reproach those who are older than yourself, as if you were better able to manage him then they?” he asked, his voice ice and fire, mirth and annoyance. Alexander grinned._  
  
_“If I cannot conquer that stallion before us father, then I shall pay for him myself.”_  
  
_Laughter erupted from those gathered around, even as the king nodded his consent. They all knew how much the magnificent horse had cost, had seen his wild fire. There was no way Alexander could succeed._  
  
_Matthew watched, eyes wide, heart in his mouth as slowly, oh so slowly, Alexander approached the horse. He truly was beautiful; black as obsidian and taller than any other horse he had ever seen. As everyone watched, Alexander reached out, still moving incredibly slowly, and turned the horse, whispering to him, before taking the reins and mounting him. The laughter and chatter halted immediately, as the golden prince rode the horse, calm as could be, towards his father. Matthew bit back a cry of joy as the king rose, a huge smile on his face and―_  
  
“Mr Harlem?”  
  
The world around Matthew dissolved in an instant, the horse, the king, the people all vanished, replace by the confused faces of his afternoon class. He coughed, face heating slightly.  
  
“Uh, yes, Jason, what is it?”  
  
“You zoned out mid sentence.”  
  
Matthew cursed silently. “Ah, did I? My apologizes.” He looked down at his lesson plan, trying to remember what he had been talking about. “Greek comedies, yes?”  
  
At the nods from his students, the teacher let out a sigh of relief. “So, Euripides.”  
  
The late afternoon air was chilled as Matthew finally left the school, hands stuffed firmly into his coat pockets to protect them from the cold. It was already starting to grow dark, even though it was only 5:00 pm. There were only a few students left hanging around at this time, and the school had fallen into one of those rare moments where it was almost quiet. Matthew yawned, his jaw cracking as he did so. This was the problem with his ridiculously early mornings ― by six he was exhausted. He made his way down the front steps, heading for the teacher’s parking lot, the first few fallen leaves of the season crunching under his feet as he walked. All he wanted to do was go home, shower, make dinner, and go to bed. And maybe read. A glass of wine would be nice as well. Really, anything that did not involve thinking about dreams, daydreams, weird guys from coffee shops, or giant untameable horses sounded wonderful at that moment. Content with his plan and occupied with his thoughts, Matthew did not see the figure leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
“I’m glad you had something to change into. I would have felt awful if you had to spend the rest of the day with coffee on your shirt.”  
  
Matthew nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice. He snapped his head around, looking back the way he came, towards the stairs. The speaker was the man who had run into him at the coffee shop. The teacher frowned.  
  
“Are you following me?” he demanded, suspicious. First the guy says he knows him, now he’s at his school? He took a step back.  
  
The guy shook his head, holding his hands up in front of him like he was surrendering. “No, no. Well, not really. I asked the Starbucks guy about you. I wanted to apologize.” He gestured at Matthew’s currently coffee free chest. “For running into you. And then spilling my latte on you. And then being all weird and freaking you out.”  
  
Still unconvinced that this man was not totally unhinged, Matthew nodded slowly. “Uh, okay then. Apology accepted.”  
  
The man pushed off the wall and took a few steps towards Matthew before stopping. He shifted, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Matthew took the moment of silence as opportunity to actually get a good look at the other man.  
  
He did not look like someone who was crazy, but then again, looks had nothing to do with it. But the look in the man’s eyes was more worried than crazy, like he was worried Matthew would run off or something. He was still bouncing though. Matthew sighed.  
  
“You’ve got something else to say?”  
  
The man brightened, and a grin tugged at his lips. “Right! I’m Alex. Alex Ranger.” He held out his hand.  
  
Matthew shook it uncertainly. “Matthew Harlem.”  
  
Alex’s grin widened. “Nice to meet you Matt. Are you busy tonight?”  
  
Matthew raised an eyebrow, disbelieving. What was with this guy? “Are you....asking me out?” he asked slowly.  
  
Alex’s eye widened and he waved his hands frantically in front of him. “What?! No. No! I just wanted to buy you dinner! You know, to make up for spilling coffee on you!”  
  
Matthew watched as the other man grew increasingly flustered. Finally he laughed softly. “Alright, alright, calm down. I get it. Sure you can buy me dinner. But first,” he held out a finger imposingly, “Are you sure you aren’t some weird stalker?”  
  
Alex looked affronted, but there was laughter shining in his eyes. “I’ll have you know I am a very normal stalker, thank you very much.”  
  
Matthew laughed, “I’ll take your word for it. My car’s over there.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the staff parking lot. “That okay with you?”  
  
They ended up in a small pizza joint of the other side of town, with a chalkboard sign outside the door that boasted of the Best Pizza Outside of Italy! It was a quaint little place, with red checked table cloths and candle holders made from empty wine bottles. Matthew had been tense to begin with - after all, this was not the kind of situation most people found themselves in on a regular basis - but he soon found himself relaxing, and actually having fun. Alex had insisted on ordering for the both of them, saying that he knew the place and to trust him. When a waiter had come to take their order, Alex had tossed a grin at Matthew before simply saying, “One large special please.” The waiter had nodded and left without another word. Matthew gave him an inquiring look, but the dark haired man had refused to go into any detail. Instead, he propped his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands and grinned all the wider.  
  
“So, you’re a teacher hm? What do you teach?”  
  
Matthew raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his water. “I teach classical history, so the culture and history of the ancient Greeks and Romans.”  
  
“Really?” Was it Matthew’s imagination, or did Alex suddenly look smug?  
  
“Yeah.” ‘But you know who Hephaestion is, so you probably already knew that’ remained unsaid. “What about you? What do you do?”  
  
Alex patted the laptop bag that he had hung on the back of his chair. “I’m a journalist.”  
  
“Really? Written anything I might have read?”  
  
Alex laughed and shook his head, his dark ponytail swishing with the motion. “Probably not. The paper I work for is still pretty small.”  
  
From there on they chatted, talking about their jobs, movies (Alex was a fan of scifi and action, while Matthew favored murder mystery type things), and other such light topics. When the pizza arrived Matthew gaped, while Alex took only the briefest of moments to laugh at his gobsmacked expression before digging in with fervor. It was a monster of a pizza, covered in cheese, olives, peppers, pepperoni, sausages, and at least three other types of meat, plus mushrooms and sardines. Matthew had stared at it cautiously, slightly afraid to touch. Noticing his reluctance, Alex had stopped eating long enough to say “Just try it. It’s really good.” Matthew eyed the pizza a moment longer before taking a slice and biting into it.  
  
True to Alex’s word, it was fantastic. The two men ate in silence for a while. It was not until Matthew had finished his third slice that the conversation recommenced. Wiping his hands on a napkin, Matthew looked expectantly over the pizza to Alex, who did not notice his staring right away. He really did feel familiar, a small part of Matthew’s brain murmured, but the teacher pushed the thought away.  
  
“So.”  
  
Alex looked up. “So?” he asked, through a mouthful of pizza.  
  
“Why did you call me Hephaestion earlier? Coffee spilt or not, you have to admit that was kind of weird.”  
  
Alex stopped mid bite. As Matthew watched, a myriad of emotions flickered across his face in rapid succession, finally settling on something blank and unreadable. This only served to intrigue Matthew all the more, and he lent forwards, careful not to get an elbow in the pizza.  
  
“Well?”  
  
Alex swallowed and the licked his lips, suddenly looking rather nervous. “Look, I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t anything.”  
  
Matthew leaned back, looking entirely unconvinced. “Mmhm. Why don’t I believe that? It’s not as if it is a common thing, calling people the name of some ancient dead general whom a lot of people have not even heard of.”  
  
Alex flinched, and his hand moved seemingly unconsciously up to toy with a chain he wore around his neck.  
  
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”  
  
“Try me.”  
  
Alex sighed and stopped playing with the chain, dropping his hand into his lap. “Fine...I called you Hepaestion....because you are. Or, were.”  
  
You could have heard a pin drop. The silence hung over the table and minutes passed before Matthew finally spoke. “Excuse me?”  
  
Alex’s word came out in a rush. “And I’m Alexander. I mean, _the_ Alexander, of Macedon. In my past life. Which I have memories of for some reason which was how I knew you were Hephaestion when I saw you and that’s why I got so excited because I’ve been looking for you since I remembered and-“  
  
Matthew was staring at him, mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to speak but couldn’t think of any words. Finally he held his hands out in front of him, eyes closed, shaking his head.  
  
“What...what the hell?!” he demanded, rising from his seat. Alex opened his mouth to speak, but Matthew cut him off. “You were right before, I don’t believe you! What is this, some kind of joke?!”  
  
“No it’s not! I swear―”  
  
“You’re crazy! There is no way that’s true.”  
  
Matthew grabbed his coat from off his chair. “I’m leaving.” Not waiting for a reply he stormed out of the restaurant.


	4. Chapter Four

_Persia was beautiful, intoxicating even. Everywhere Matthew turned there were women, each more beautiful than the last, flowers and fabrics and jewels of colours more brilliant than anything he had ever seen. Perfumes and spices filled the air, and he could hear strange, beautiful music being played, though he could not spy the source. He walked a pace behind another man; tall, blond, and wearing fine armor. Behind him were the others, the other generals, all looking around in wonder, pointing and laughing, or speaking together in low voices._  
  
_The man who guided them; a short, wizened old man, brought them to a halt in a grand chamber, with marble floors polished to a shine and great silk hangings on the walls. There were great piles of cushions on a section of the floor, to sit upon. The old man bowed to Matthew’s lord, his king, and told him that the Queen would be there shortly, before exiting the room._  
  
_Around him, the men began to talk loudly, speaking of the things they had seen, of the palace, of the women. Alexander wandered around the room, admiring the hangings and statues with a curious and hungry eye. Matthew stayed where he was, not feeling entirely at ease amongst such lavishness. He spun around when the grand doors were flung open once again._  
  
_The Queen was beautiful, to that there could be no doubt. She was covered in what could only be the finest of jewels, and accompanied by a platoon of guards. The room fell quiet as she approached Matthew and knelt before him._  
  
_“Mighty Alexander, I come before you to beg for the lives of my family.”_  
  
_Matthew stared at the woman. Behind him he could hear quiet laughter from some of the other generals, and he opened his mouth, unsure how to tell the Queen that she had made a mistake._  
  
_Footsteps sounded from behind him, and then a hand fell on Matthew’s shoulder. He could feel the heat of the other man’s body next to him as Alexander stood shoulder to shoulder with him, smiling. The queen looked up, and a look of confusion crossed her beautiful features. Alexander smiled gently._  
  
_“You are not wrong, Lady.” he said, and there were so many emotions in his voice that it made Matthew shiver. “For this man,” he squeezed Matthew’s shoulder, “he, too, is Alexander.”_  
  
_The queen began to speak once again, but Matthew did not hear her words. His attention was ensnared by Alexander’s words and the warmth of his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. Alexander turned, two-toned eyes locking with Matthew’s and smiled warmly. Matthew’s breath caught in his throat. The man smiling at him. It was Alex._  
  
Matthew’s eyes flew open, but he did not move. Instead he stared at the dark ceiling, his mind racing. Finally he shook his head, as if he was trying to rid himself of his thoughts. It was a dream, and nothing more, just a combination of the normal strangeness of his dreams and Alex’s crazy story from the day before. That was all. Matthew exhaled slowly and rolled onto his side, closing his eyes as he tried to ignore the tiny voice in the back of his mind that would not stop whispering “But what if that’s not it? What if he’s not crazy?”, and to forget the feeling of the other man’s hand on his shoulder burning hot as the sun.  
  
Matthew looked up from his laptop when someone set a coffee cup and a plate with a large ginger cookie on it down on the table in front of him. It was Saturday morning and he was stationed at his usual table, where he could be found most Saturdays. The Starbucks was relatively empty, only a few other patrons were there, talking on phones or chatting with friends, so the noise level was low and Matthew had not yet needed to put his earbuds in. Raising his eyes further he encountered the nervous looking face of one Alex Ranger. The journalist was fiddling with the end of his ponytail; tugging on it, rubbing it between his fingers, and looked ready to bolt at the slightest word. Matthew looked back down at the food.  
  
“How’d you know I take my coffee black?”  
  
Alex audibly let out a breath when Matthew did not yell, and sat down in the chair on the other side of the small table. “I remember you ordered a black coffee and a cappuccino. I had a fifty, fifty chance.”  
  
A smile tugged on the corner of Matthew’s lips, but he did not meet Alex’s eyes. “Look, about last week,” he began, but Alex cut him off.  
  
“Don’t worry about. It’s no big deal. Just forget I said anything.” For a brief moment his face filled with a look of self deprecation, and Matthew caught his gaze.  
  
“No, let me talk. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.....I don’t think you are crazy.”  
  
Alex looked startled. “You don’t?”  
  
Matthew shifted in his seat, feeling pinned under Alex’s gaze which had suddenly turned piercing. “No...But I am not saying I believe you either. Not really. Not yet. But,” he said, holding up a finger as Alex seemed to deflate, “If what you say is true, then, well, we were friend, at one time. At least, that’s what history says.” History also said a few other things, but nope, he was not going to think about those things at this time. “So, I guess we could...try to be friends now? If you want to, I mean.”  
  
The smile that appeared on Alex’s face could have lit up a room, and Matthew had a sudden vision of someone else, someone with blond hair, tanned skin, and different coloured eyes with that same, bright, smile that made something in him warm. He smiled back, then reached out and took a bite of his cookie as Alex settled down more in his chair and pulled out his phone, sliding it across the table.  
  
“Put your number in it.”  
  
Matthew did so and then texted himself with it before handing the phone back and smacking Alex’s hand away from his cookie. “Get your own.”  
  
“Hey! I bought it!”  
  
“For me. Get your own.”  
  
Alex sulked, pulling his hand back with a wounded expression. “Some friend you are.”  
  
Matthew grinned teasingly, broke off a piece of the cookie, and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and made a show of savoring it, taking great joy in the outraged noises Alex was making.  
  
They did not talk much about “it”, as that first day had come to be known. They talked about history, Matthew was a classics teacher after all, it was in his blood, but they rarely made things personal. Oh sure, there were a few slips; “Remember when we,” Alex would start, before locking eyes with Matthew, closing his mouth, and quickly looking away. Sometime he would actually finish his question and look at Matthew, hope painfully clear in his amber eyes, and the teacher would look away with a quick shake of his head. There would be a few seconds of silence, before one of them started up a new topic of conversation.  
  
Matthew could not place for certain when he started lying, when the “no”s and headshakes had begun to be accompanied by “Yes”, deep in the silence of his mind. It began as only small things, only every now and then, but gradually the silent yes’s became more and more frequent.  
  
“Do you remember Bucephalus?” Alex had a black cat now, that he had named after the horse.  
  
“No.”  
  
The horse would only allow Alexander to ride him. The golden prince had named him Bucephalus, cow head. Not what Matthew would have necessarily chosen, especially for such a magnificent steed, but Alexander was happy, and that was all that mattered.  
  
“There was this joke, I remember Bagoas told me,”  
  
“Who?”  
  
He watched, lips pressed tightly together to keep the bitter words that sat like sour poison on the tip of his tongue from flying away, as Alexander reached out absentmindedly, running his fingers through the Persian boy’s dark locks. Why he hated the slave, he could not say, but that did not change the harsh emotions aroused by watching his king interact with him, deep in the pit of Matthew’s stomach.  
  
“Do you remember when we visited Troy?” the words were soft and slurred, Alex half asleep on Matthew’s couch. Matthew’s nails bit into the flesh of his palm as he responded.  
  
“I’ve never been to Troy.”  
  
_“Hephaestion! Come, look here!” Matthew turned from where he had been addressing the men, giving them their orders. Alexander stood at the entrance to the tombs, his armor shining in the bright Trojan sunlight. He gestured, and Matthew moved to stand at his side. Alexander slung an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his arm. There was a look of utmost wonder upon his face._  
  
_“We are finally here Hephaestion, my Patroclus,” he exclaimed, and Matthew felt a smile form on his lips at the name._  
  
_“Yes we are, my King.”_  
  
_Together the two men took in the sight of tombs of the great Achilles and Patroclus. Alexander squeezed Matthew’s shoulder once more before releasing him, and side by side they entered the tomb._


	5. Chapter Five

It took three months for things to fall apart. In that time, the friendship between the two men had grown and strengthened, but there was still a part of Matthew that was hesitant, scared, a part he did not like to dwell on. He did not tell Alex about the dreams (the memories, a voice in his mind whispered). He did not speak of the way certain things his friend did, the way he smiled, his laugh, had begun to remind Matthew of someone else, of a golden haired king even though there was no way that was possible because he had never known a king.  
  
Matthew sighed heavily, staring at himself in Alex’s bathroom mirror. He reached up and tugged on a lock of his ginger hair. It was getting too long, beginning to show its curl. He would have to get it cut soon, the teacher mused. Matthew returned his gaze to his reflection. He did not look like Hephaestion, not as he did in his dreams. He did not have the same strong build, tanned skin, or the long brown hair. And yet, Alex had said he recognized him, but how? Speaking of Alex, the journalist in question looked nothing like the Alexander in the memories. Dreams. Whatever. Here, in reality, he was short, with pale skin and dark hair and eyes (Matthew had learnt that Alex’s mother was from Mongolia originally, but had moved when she was still a child).  
  
His mind was still caught up in that train of thought when he returned to the main room of Alex’s apartment. The shorter man was lounging on the couch, a battered copy of the Iliad that appeared to be in worse shape than Matthew’s in his hands. Glancing at it, Matthew spoke without thinking.  
  
“It is too bad you do not still have your old copy. Our teacher, Aristotle, gave you an annotated copy, right?”  
  
Alex sat bolt upright, staring at Matthew with wide eyes, the book dropping from his hands. His own words dawning on him, Matthew stared back, he too with wide eyes. Finally Alex nodded, rapidly, a massive grin slowly spreading across his face.  
  
“Yes. Yes he did! You remember that!” He jumped up, vaulting over the back of the couch and rushing to Matthew’s side. Matthew recoiled slightly as Alex’s grabbed his forearms tightly.  
  
“You finally remember! I can’t believe it! I was beginning to think you never would!” He hugged Matthew tightly, who stood stiff and wide eyed, mind reeling. “Hephaestion! Hephaestion, I’ve missed you so much you have no idea!”  
  
But Matthew was shaking his head, pushing Alex away. “No...no, stop. Stop it! That’s not my name!” His head was beginning to ache. This was wrong. He was not Hephaestion. He was Matthew.  
  
Alex stopped his bouncing, his smile wilting and his eyebrows furrowing. “Hephaestion?”  
  
“Stop calling me that!”  
  
Alex recoiled like he had been slapped, but Matthew was not finished.  
  
“I’m not Hephaestion! My name is Matthew! I never have or will be Hephaestion, because Hephaestion is a Macedonian general who lived in 350 BC and is DEAD!” Matthew felt dizzy and angry and his head was hurting even more now.  
  
Alex’s face had gone pale, but now he was scowling darkly. “You are! You are Hephaestion and you know it, but you won’t admit it because you’re scared!” he yelled, his hands forming fists at his sides.  
  
“No I’m not!” Matthew shouted. He had to leave, had to get out, go home. He grabbed his coat and stormed towards the door, only to have Alex’s hand land, heavy and restraining, on his shoulder. Matthew whirled around, knocking the other man’s hand away. “Don’t touch me! I am not Hephaestion! And you, you aren’t Alexander! You’re just crazy!” Hurt flashed in Alex’s eyes, but Matthew did not care. He just had to get out, so he ran, out the door and down the hall.  
  
Matthew did not stop running, not even after he had made it out of the building. The night air was cold and a heavy fog had settled over the world, giving the night a ghostly feel. Matthew’s head was pounding now, the world around him unsteady, and he kept on running. His car, his car, where had he parked his car? He stopped running, trying to make the world stay still so he could just think. He did not see the car, did not notice the glowing yellow headlights until it was too late, and suddenly, all he knew was pain and black.  
  
The door slammed behind Matthew, and Alex dropped to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest and pressing his forehead against them. What had he done? Why did he have to be so stupid?! He had ruined everything! Matthew’s words rang in his mind, “You’re just crazy!” They cut; deep, bloody wounds that hurt more than anything Alex had ever felt. He wanted to cry. Or scream. Screaming was good. Slowly, shakily, the journalist rose to his feet and wandered into his kitchen. There was a bottle of wine on the counter. Matthew had brought it over. Their glasses were still sitting on the coffee table, practically untouched. Alex grabbed the bottle and brought it to his lips. He drank deeply, until he had to stop and gasp a breath, and then he went back into the living room. He dropped down onto the couch and took another long swig of wine, before cradling his face with his free hand.  
  
He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Alex remembered was waking up to the sound of his phone ringing. The wine bottle had fallen from his hand and smashed at some point, the dark red wine pooling on the hardwood floor like blood. Alex cursed, and grabbed his phone, sucking in a breath when he saw the caller ID. Matthew. It was Matthew, he was calling him, he could apologize! Alex smashed thumb down on the accept call button and brought the phone up to his ear. “Matthew, I am so glad you called look I am so, so sorry I-“ he was cut off by a woman’s voice.  
  
“I’m sorry, is this Alex? Alex Ranger?”  
  
Alex froze. “Yes. Who is this?”  
  
“I’m Christina, a friend of Matthew’s. I....he’s in the hospital. He was hit by a car......I thought you should-“  
  
Alex heard nothing more because he was jumping from the couch, grabbing his shoes and keys, and launching himself out the door. His blood felt like ice in his veins and he was sure his heart must have stopped. He had never felt this much terror before, not in this lifetime. His thoughts were racing, but they kept on returning to one thing. ‘I can’t lose him again.’  
  
~~~  
  
_Alexander’s tent had been set up at the center of the massive camp and Hephaestion’s stood to its right. The walk between the two was short, and the air that night was warm. Hephaestion smiled, tilting his head up slightly and inhaling deeply, filling his lungs with Persian air. A low laugh made him open his eyes. Alexander peered at him through the flap of his tent._  
  
_“Are you planning to join me, my Hephaestion, or will you simply stand there all night?”_  
  
_Hephaestion laughed softly, approaching and entering the tent. Once inside, Alexander embraced him, resting his chin on his second-in-command’s shoulder. The two men stood like that for a time, eyes closed and silent, before they parted and Alexander reached out, cupping Hephaestion’s cheek. The king’s hand was rough, calluses, scars, and Time herself having thickened and hardened the once soft skin. He smiled, and Hephaestion smiled back. Their silence was comfortable, familiar. Finally Alexander withdrew his hand, and they sat together, talking. They discussed the events of the day, the progress the army had made, the plans for once they reached the city. Somehow they began debating the Iliad, Alexander producing the edition their old teacher had gifted him with. They were rarely out of contact, always touching. The bump of shoulders, the touch of hands, a pat on the back; all were part of a language they had developed as boys, silent and stronger than any spoken words. Alexander’s bright laughter often filled the air, as they talked, late into the night and then on into the morning. My Hephaestion, my Patroclus. My King, my Lord, my Alexander, my Achilles._  
  
_~~~_  
  
_Pain. There was so much pain, like a fire in his stomach that was seeping into his veins and turning his limbs to molten lead. Every movement cause the pain to worsen, even opening his eyes made him groan. There was a shout, the slamming of doors being thrown open, and then there was his King’s voice, his Alexander, and he was holding his hand cupping his face and pleading, begging him not to go, not to leave him. Hephaestion managed to open his eyes, to smile at his king and reach up to cup his face. His voice was weak, so weak, when he finally managed to speak._  
  
_“Don’t cry, my Alexander.”_  
  
_Alexander’s voice shook, catching in his throat as he spoke and he squeezed Hephaestion’s shaking hand tight, so tight, as if doing so would keep the dying man by his side._  
  
_“Don’t leave me Hephaestion.” He was crying, tears sliding down his face, “My Patroclus, I am nothing without you.”_  
  
_“Shh, shh. I won’t leave you my King. We still have Arabia to conquer.” Hephaestion tried to laugh, but it was a short, pained sound that brought tears to his eyes. Alexander kissed his forehead, his whole body shaking with repressed sobs, and then pressed his forehead to Hephaestion’s._  
  
_Hephaestion tried to speak, to keep his eyes open, to assure his king that he would soon be up and well, but he could not. There was so much pain and his strength was slipping away fast, too fast for him to catch. Darkness filled his vision and his eyes slid closed and..._  
  
“You better wake up, you bastard, you hear me?! You aren’t allowed to leave me alone again!” An oh so familiar voice was saying, urgent and rough. “You hear me?!”  
  
Matthew groaned, opening his eyes slowly and wincing. It was white and far too bright. “Wha-?”  
  
“Matthew! Oh thank the gods, you’re awake!”  
  
Matthew tried to open his eyes again. “A-Alexander?” he croaked, voice hoarse from disuse. Above him, he heard a sharp intake of breath, and then a hand was gently stroking his face. “Yes, Hephaestion, I’m here.”  
  
Alex’s face came into focus, staring down at Matthew’s face with red rimmed eyes full of worry and relief. Matthew tried to sit up, but strong hands on his shoulders forced him to stay down. “Lie still.” Alex instructed, and Matthew did as he was told. It hurt less.  
  
“What happened?” he croaked. Alex squeezed his hand.  
  
“You were hit by a car. That’s what you get for standing in the middle of the road, stupid.” The dark haired man’s laugh was shakily and tearful. “The guy who hit you called 911, and your friend Christina called me. You’ve been unconscious for three days, and you have a broken leg, three broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and a concussion.” He glared at the man in the bed. “Don’t you ever do something that stupid ever again! Do you have any idea how scared I was?!”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Damn right you’re sorry!” Alex squeezed Matthew’s hand. “I thought I was going to lose you. I thought you were going to leave me again, after I had finally just found you.” He touched Matthew’s cheek. “How much do you remember?”  
  
Matthew leaned into the cool hand. “All of it. Most of it. I’m not quite sure. Xander, I’m so sorry for what I said.”  
  
Alex shook his head. “I’m sorry too ‘phaestion. I shouldn’t have pushed.”  
  
Matthew squeezed his hand. “I’m glad I remember. I’m glad I remember you.”  
  
Alex laughed, and his eyes were shining with tears. “I’m glad you remember too. I’m glad I found you.”


End file.
